


Flowers grow in hungry bowels

by Kyle0beez



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Amputation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Concussions, Fights, Friendship, Fundy was also there, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Inspired by Bird Box (2018), Isolation, Malnutrition, Near Death Experiences, Platonic Relationships, Protector TommyInnit, Protector Tubbo, Tommy: sorry, Virus, Wilbur: fuc' i've to protect my shit, Wilbur: u are my shit, hunger, no beta we die like tubbo in the festival, tommy: I've a plan, tubbo: let's go then
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26701984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyle0beez/pseuds/Kyle0beez
Summary: When a plague contaminates almost all living beings on the planet, becoming empty shells without consciousness wandering and infecting, Tubbo makes his home his lonely safe haven. Ignoring the rules, Tubbo would always allow Tommy to stay.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 114





	Flowers grow in hungry bowels

**Author's Note:**

> TW: malnutrition; very short and non-explicit mention of animal death (which lasts for a sentence or paragraph); and blood and open and described wounds.
> 
> Be safe :0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo wakes up to a noise on the first floor of his house, in the middle of the apocalypse. To be honest, it's kind of comforting

Tubbo woke up with the downstairs door closing with a click.

It was a sound so fast that at another time, it could be ignored. The curtains swayed and he caught a glimpse of panic before realizing that he forgot the fan on last night — that was bad news, he probably spent all the energy he stole with that slip. However, Tubbo was still in the air to take care of the consequences.

He ran his arms sore and stuffed with long, vertical cuts over the sheets and felt the sting of the artificial bruise when he brushed the not-too-soft fabric. He lifted himself up in a sitting position and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, moving his fingers up to the open, grated wound on his forehead over his eye, up to his hair. One arm immobilized by the minimum numbness, by the position of sleep. His fingers in his hair came out full of dirt, Tubbo noticed — what would he do for a shower now? (A lot, he concluded)

The sound of knocking increased on the floor below, he could make out the kitchen cupboard, the one on the island, and Tubbo had the sweet memory of some friends hitting their heads over there. Despite the feeling of welcome nostalgia, his body stiffened in the silent agreement that something was in his home. His arm ran instinctively to his chest, where he would normally be armed with his baseball bat, just so that his hand would go straight and hit his clothes directly. Heart beating fast, it was no longer a nuisance.

_"Or maybe it's just Tommy"_

The thought relaxed him enough for him to actually take action.

He turned off the fan. It would have been a useless trip if he simply expended all the energy he found (not a lot) in the past day. He just thought about enjoying some of his effort by eating a snack still within the validity that he managed victoriously to find inside glass-covered boxes at the farthest gas station he could reach in thirty minutes. He locked himself in the room and threw himself on the bed and was sure he was only going to take a nap. But, apparently, he already had light outside and the ventilation made him sleep longer than he should have — yes, the fan, it was definitely not his fault for being careless.

To be honest, it was a busy day, supplies were running out and Tubbo had no choice but to leave the house. He spent all the sunlight outside and, even though the security of the chosen day was relatively dry, he had the displeasure of having to run a little. Three Blood Zombies (affectionately nicknamed once) stayed behind him for a long time. He was exhausted, but convinced himself that the snack was worth every step.

Tubbo looked tiredly at his untidy bed, he prowled his room a little looking for his cue, it was very easy to get distracted now. The downstairs noises had died down. If it were Tommy, Tubbo knew that he would always make the least noise possible, and he also knew that he wouldn't leave until he showed up downstairs. Tommy never went up, he always said he was very suspicious and he could get in trouble for that.

 _“For example, you could mistake me for these zombies and blow my face. Or you could not be upstairs.”_ Tommy said that before he left the second time. Tubbo never questioned.

There is always the option of not being Tommy.

Tubbo realized that it was a wet day when his feet began to stick to the smooth floor and their marks were stuck there for a few seconds. His plant was alive, that was good, so he is not infected with anything that could kill it (Tubbo would be very sad if his little tree died).

The splintered wood with dried blood caught his eye on the side of the bed, he twisted his fingers over the stick and it was such a natural action that it looked like it had come with him. It was difficult to remember a before that point. It was very distant, it didn't even seem to be needed anymore. It did, anyway.

The sound below him stiffened him again, Tubbo's entire body entering his defense mode. He learned and memorized every noise that each room could make. Being safe in the house itself was not that real. He heard stories. Even if a break-in was not so common, Tubbo was not so numb as to risk it.

It took a little getting used to that the monsters out there weren't real zombies, and that they weren't just coming to devour their brain. They were just mobile shells of a super-developed virus that wanted to keep growing. Just infecting, it wasn't a real battle. The virus would probably make it one day, but Tubbo at least wanted to be there to see it.

Tubbo slid on the doorknob, it clicked open, like all the others, but Tubbo silently decorated, a long time ago, that his bedroom door had a low squeak on the first push. The socks making his steps not really sound, Tubbo used to be not so silent. He hovered over the stairs. On the first floor of his house was an endless pitch. Today was not a sunny day, it was wet and gray, almost green, one of the days that Tubbo would not get out of bed.

There were still days of sunshine, there were still days when he saw insects climbing the glass, which he could almost forget. But he never forgot, those days didn't make sense.

He reached half the stairs. The sounds of footsteps were so frightening that his fingers went pale holding the wood against his chest, he knew he was full of blood because of that, but it was safe. He also knew that if many monsters were down there, he would not be able to fight. He was still exhausted and hurt. His body was too sore for him to hold two at once. Tubbo blocked some routes from the sound. The sight of three steps to reach the kitchen was an anxious conclusion that he transpires in a shaky sigh that Tubbo regretted as soon as the silence reigned.

There were rules that he learned by practice. Have a plant, they don't spread the virus, but they die if they get infected. Do not open doors or windows. Do not house animals, not even insects, they will probably die soon. Although it also depends on how much death you can endure, that's how Tubbo housed three cats respectively and discovered he was allergic. None of them were with him at the time, the third was his limit. Although sometimes he left some food at the door. He should pay more attention.

Tubbo took a leap of reality when the crash and crash noise invaded the kitchen. Dry and high. By the knock, it was on the inner side of the island, against the cabinets that leaned comfortably against the wall. But the thought of a position was gone as fast as it came, his brain getting ready and his toes curling under his sock. "Please, don't let me slip on the floor" — he wished repeatedly, automatically going cautiously to the sound that was out of his sight.

And as automatically as it came, his body caught for a moment in a short. He let the stick fall to the floor in one quick motion.

Analyzing Tommy was not something he did not do. With so much time without real entertainment, the ease of connecting in detail was surprising; but he never needed to analyze Tommy so carefully when he did it in the exact 7 seconds that he was frozen.

He was sitting where he thought he would be, between the two kitchen walls — between the island and the sink. His face was down and his hair was clearly gooey with dried blood, Tubbo wasn't sure if the blood was his. The yellow and white T-shirt he was wearing was also in no better shape. He looked paler than usual. Tubbo felt a shiver of panic before moving.

Tubbo learned to store gloves everywhere so when he found a pair of gloves in the first cutlery drawer he blew out a breath. He put it on his fingers, it was black and with a slightly shaggy part in his palm, he had stolen it from a stock near the mall one day, in the same place he found his club (probably a sports store, he’s not sure) . He would spend more time with the gloves if they didn't make his hands sweaty from the temperature.

He walked over to Tommy, he could be infected at that moment, the thought was so painful that Tubbo didn't want to hold on to him much longer. But it was Tommy who taught him about this caution. He would never forgive him if he got hurt by a silly feeling. It didn't seem so silly now, it was just desperate.

He knelt down, the scrapes on his leg being pressed and a painful groan escaping. Tubbo raised his hands carefully and raised Tommy's head.

With that movement, everything that seemed so smooth changed, Tommy rolled his arms over his belly and his expression was painful. Tubbo stayed on looking for signs of the disease. He was pale, yes, but he tried to seek the symptoms from the back of his mind. Usually it started with a fever, he didn't look feverish, even though the gloves interfered with the contact, Tommy looked colder than ever. He raised his jaw a little brutally, normally the skin peeled; Tommy had no detachment, just a few minor scars running down his neck, but nothing looked inflamed.

Everything was fast, the way it spread, one day it was a global alert, the next, the apocalypse itself. Tubbo felt the anxiety of each passing minute. Only one rule has been determined, a common sense shared worldwide: be alone. In his opinion, it was the worst of them. He was lucky that his parents left the house before everything got worse, he was lucky for a few days of communication before everything stopped. It was clear and easy to follow. Do not open the door to neighbors or family members, do not let anyone in, the number one rule of survival.

He has not yet overcome the pain that empty doors bring. In the meantime, he doesn't remember opening his parents 'or sisters' rooms at any time. And the pain was more acute when he was alone, before Tommy.

The only family room he ever opened was his own room, to put his bed for his streaming office, and it was a good distraction for two days. And although the organization was not his forte, he forced himself to at least put his space in order. He moved things around three times until he got bored, and he still had a junk box in the middle of his old empty room that he barricaded the door with just for tantrum, and because the idea seemed fun.

Honestly, he tried, but when did he manage to say no to Tommy? Sometimes he wondered if he would open the door for someone else — he stopped thinking about it for a while.

A definite symptom of contagion was the color of the eyes, they squeezed into a conjunctivitis where the whole sclera (he doesn't remember how that word was decorated other than 'the white thing in the eye'.) It turned red and started bleeding after a time. Eyes wide shut in agony, it was painful to both watch and feel.

However, Tubbo can imagine the false annoyance, hiding the overwhelming concern that Tubbo would rather protect Tommy than himself, like a fog.

Maybe that's why he opened the door for Tommy. Because Tommy valued security so much that he never tried to climb the facade of kindness he had. And answers like "I will not hug you because you may be infected", became "I’ll not hug you because you’re stinky". Tubbo continued to learn from Tommy, he usually had information and always carried something interesting in his backpack, simply because he couldn't keep quiet. He almost didn't believe it when Tommy spoke as the most banal thing in the world that had walked more than four hours to get to his house. Tommy was an idiot.

They built a wall of trust between them that Tubbo would do anything to keep Tommy safe. Tommy is his family.

So Tubbo continues

He forced his lids open. Everything was clean. White yet white. Blue was still blue, just a little blurry. Tommy's T-shirt was dry, meaning he hasn't had a fever for a long time, but Tubbo could count Tommy's ribs with just a quick look, and the way in which he can see the bones in Tommy's hands. more bouncing and the spots on the skin a little more prominent, Tubo is sure that something is not right.

Suddenly, Tommy woke up, he jumped on the floor and almost hit his head, Tubbo got a fright and glanced away, just a reflex. Tommy looked awake now, but a long way from remotely recognizing the environment. Tommy tightened his stomach. Tubbo didn't even have time to sigh the stress-relieved sigh by burning his stomach alive. He stood up in a second, looking at Tommy from above.

"I'll get you some water" Tubbo headed not far, to the refrigerator. The misused voice seemed more determined than he expected it to sound. If Tubbo could qualify, he would say it was an emotional mess.

He opened the fridge — it hadn't worked in a long time — stocked with water and some canned foods he found along the way. He had a lot of beans that Tommy hated. Her touch against the bottle was no longer frustrated when it came out at room temperature, Tubbo was already used to drinking water that way. It was disgusting, but better than nothing.

He tried to leave the bottle in Tommy's hands before giving up by the force he held on to. He left her next to his best friend's body, and just gave a sympathetic look with a wry smile when he looked around a little lost in what to do.

The low peeps caught his attention for the first time, the bird cage rested on the bench, he went towards the sparrows with his eyes shining when he saw the rarest things in the world today (they really were, the only living creature that had no impact) with the virus). His smile became kind when he counted the number. Last time, Tommy had two birds, this time, three sparrows hopped excitedly over the wooden platforms in the shape of a stick. He noticed the lack of water and thought it might be fun to hydrate Tommy's little animals.

He tried to open the cage and one of them almost wanted to take his finger as a gift. He swore a little and was frustrated every time the pot of water escaped his hand. He let the cage door close as he removed the glove clip in his right hand with his mouth. But he was actively distracted when the sound of swallowing was heard quickly. The lime green cap of the water bottle was almost thrown aside while Tommy took the water as if it were the best thing he had ever tasted. Fingers squeezing the plastic until nothing is left to tell the story.

Tommy took a little heavy breath before actually opening his eyes. He had a somewhat desperate presence until he looked at Tubbo and simply changed in familiarity. Tubbo didn't want to be so happy about it, but it was always good to get some of Tommy's attention.

"You left the door open." Tommy's voice was warning, so hoarse and so low that it didn't sound like his.

"I slept, I think I forgot it open, then."

"What's that on your nose?" and almost imperceptibly, the scolding became an equally irritated concern. "You look like shit."

Tubbo brought two of his fingers to his nostrils. A dry, liquid surface in specific places, which should not be there. He pulled it out just for his eyes to catch the thick red glued to the digits. He winced

“Oh. I didn't notice that. ” Tommy frowned." And to be honest, you look like shit, too. "Tommy's nostalgic provocation when he mumbles a low _'bitch'_ makes Tubbo let out a bottled breath.

"You left?"

Tubbo took off his gloves, finally.

Tommy's broken voice brought Tubbo back to the room temperature water bottles. That remained disgusting. (Was turning on the fridge really as stupid as it looked?), (Probably, yes, but he was almost surrendering). He held one in his hands and shot Tommy without really thinking about what he was doing.

"Yesterday." he replied in time to see the glimpse of the plastic bottle jump out of Tommy's hands and fall on his chest. Tommy was slow and quiet, that was not a positive sign. “I went to collect stuff. And seriously, I can count on my fingers how many people are still in my neighborhood, it’s not possible that everyone stole things so fast. Weeks ago there was a box full of beans and they were all gone.”

"God removed canned beans from humanity to make it happier and healthier." Tubbo makes a face.

"I think he's focusing on the **wrong problem."** He kind of feels a little bad for laughing.

Tubbo sat across from Tommy while watching his dissociated eyes try to focus on opening the lid. Fingers slipping and turning white around the circle while he looked breathless with it. Tubbo would have laughed if his friend didn't look so miserable that way.

A shadow that passed through the window. Tubbo caught his breath. Reigning silence until she left, he got a little glazed and became a little distracted. Tommy's belly rumbled shortly after that, he murmured in pain as his head was thrown back. His eyes shone with tears that Tommy would not shed in the name of his pride — just as Tubbo realized the problem and where it was coming from. Tommy was starving.

"I'll prepare something for you."

Tubbo got up from the floor as fast as the last time. The sounds of banging cabinets make so much sense that it hurt. He opened a bag full of bread. They weren't exactly good, but they weren't moldy and that was enough for him. Tubbo recalled some ingredients like cheese that he found in one of the charity boxes left by donations he found in hard to reach places. It would even be worth turning on the stove to create something more neat, but he hadn't had gas in the house for a long time. Tommy's growl took his concentration off the food for a moment.

"I don't want you to spend your supplies on me.” Tommy's, if somewhat pathetic, requests were really true.

"There's a packet of snacks—" he rummaged in a relatively tall cupboard, standing on tiptoe on his side, his arm stretched awkwardly. Ignoring Tommy's pleas "—right here!" he exclaimed holding the package and smiled when his body relaxed in its normal posture. Tommy looked almost sorry. But a smile escaped his dry lips.

"I think you were hiding it." Tommy snorted when again when the yellow packet hit his chest. It was the kind of thing that Tubbo couldn't ignore and not smile with.

“Nah. It's all right. I’ve others like that.” he was lying, but Tommy didn't need to know.

Tubbo knew that all of Tommy's self-control vanishes as soon as the salty is opened. He tried to ignore how painful it was to hear Tommy eat as if the food was going to look like, tears starting to leak out of his eyes without a sound, as Tubbo could change his mind and take his food away. Perhaps it was really necessary, in theory, supplies were few and he should not go on another hunt without recovering from this one, which would give him a couple of weeks off, but he never would.

When Tommy ate it all, he wasn't satisfied, he didn't expect it to be. He was silent while he drank water and he didn't say a word while Tommy made all the breads on cheese sandwiches. Tubbo arranged them in his arms and almost threw himself next to Tommy, the small space pressing his legs together and his shoulders competing for the same space, they couldn't care less.

Tubbo left the buns on Tommy and almost cringed when Tommy silently asked for permission. Tommy attacked the loaves before he even finished nodding in agreement. Tubbo fidgeted looking for space and when he was comfortable enough, he started looking at Tommy as if his friend was going to disappear.

The dry swallow stopped Tommy before he took the white bread carefully. The eyes thinking away.

"I have been without food for almost a week." before Tubbo interrupted in outrage, he continued. "I was out."

Curiosity called Tubbo. It hadn't been long since he had seen Tommy, maybe three weeks, he really hadn't expected his friend to have gone this far and Tubbo felt a twinge of selfish betrayal with the realization that Tommy had hidden this plan from him. Another part was yelling at Tubbo a little, that it certainly hadn't been a week since Tommy didn't eat right.

"I saw Wilbur."

"REALLY?!" Tubbo was suddenly overjoyed "How's he?"

“Yeah, he's fine. Still singing about women and shit. He looks taller, which is definitely not fair. Wilbur was getting ready to leave, as well. I still some information, y’know?” Tommy ate another of the loaves as if they were water escaping his fingers, so he really was sorry for not having enough.

Tommy's blond hair glued to his forehead, he looked a little better now. Tubbo almost missed the last part of the sentence.

"I heard they found a safe place up." Tommy sat up and Tubbo bowed a little, he had believed in places like this in the beginning, not now. Tommy stopped counting the days since 221. He had time to get used to the idea that they couldn't be saved.

"Tommy—" Tubbo bit his mouth and moved his hands in discomfort.

"No." Tommy broke off the sentence. “Let me finish, okay? I'm serious, looks like is real this time. I talked to Wilbur, I got this information by accident and found him stealing resources near the fence. It looks like a group of people got a safe space somewhere near the countryside.” Tommy had that sparkle in his eyes that left Tubbo a little aimless. “It’s difficult to reach, can take some time and resources, it is also very restricted. But it is possible. If we get there, we can have at least a few months without having to wait for a knife in the back.

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me." Tommy laughs condescendingly. "You're an idiot."

"I'm an idiot? You did not eat for a week!” Tubbo's voice was high and a little hiss of indignation. Tommy just made a face that Tubbo snorted in realization before the sentence really escaped.

"Mmm. This doesn't look like something I would do. ”

From then on, Tubbo let Tommy roam. He talked about Wilbur and a few more details about the safe place; Tommy talked about the birds and _'how it's possible for Wilbur to have walked for days and not purposefully getting close to them.'_ and _ **'** that Wilbur is probably just a paranoid bitch'._

Tubbo interrupted once or twice, just because he was very fond of having Tommy talking non-stop now. He almost forgot how tired he was, but he had his moment to notice when his head fell unconsciously backwards, completely sleepy, Tommy's eyes locked on him in an absolute determination that made Tubbo want to move, look burning like he was writing a truth in stone.

"Will work this time." _'I promise'_ was completely implied.

Tubbo closed his eyes. All he could do for now was to trust Tommy completely now. And he do.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very happy that the majority of fandom respects the individuality of the bois. But it's always good to make it clear that the relationship is one of friendship and completely platonic.


End file.
